Alone
by Howtotellalie
Summary: Hikaru is rejected by Haruhi and finds out that she and Tamaki have been seeing each other. Feeling hurt and betrayed because he was not made aware of this by Kaoru, he completely shuts off his twin. Melanie Hastings knows what it is like to lose a twin, and a father. Being the only heir to the Hastings Hospital empire she is taken in by the Ootoris. Can she help Hikaru and he her?
1. Prologue

Just trying this out. I am unsure as to whether I would like to continue this story or not, I would like to know how you feel. If this seems like something you would be intrested in reading plasee let me know and I will continue it if not then I guess I'll just finish "Trust Me" instead of doing both.

* * *

_**Prologue**_

I... I'm sorry Hikaru. I don't feel the same way."

Hikaru gazed at the one person he had ever harbored such strong ROMANTIC feelings for, his eyes begging and pleading. Haruhi shook her head sadly causing her mop of brown hair to toss about. "I'm sorry," she said once more. She shifted uncomfortably before adding, "Besides... I'm seeing someone."

Hikaru tensed as jealousy clawed at his already bleeding heart. He balled his fists, pressing his nails into the soft skin of his palms where they were sure to leave marks. Ragged breaths followed as he tried to calm himself. "Who?"

She blinked trying to make sense of the single word uttered. "Who what-"

"Who is the guy you're messing around with?!" he demanded voice raising. "Who's the guy that's so much better than me?"

Haruhi's face grew hot like a blacktop on a summer afternoon. She glared at her friend indignant, offended by his poor wording.

"I am certainly not 'messing around' as you so kindly put it. And if you must know ask any member of the host club. They all already knew. I suppose Kaoru didn't tell you."

Eyes flickering up to her face, Hikaru dug his nails deeper into his flesh. "Is it Kaoru?" he growled.

Relief washed over him upon Haruhi shaking her head. "Even if it were would you be able to bring yourself to hate your own twin? Over something so petty?"

Hikaru directed his eyes at his feet in shame. His reflection in the music room floor stared back at him in disapproval, it's expression grim and unforgiving. How could he think so lowly of his twin? Kaoru was the one who told him to go after Haruhi in the first place.

"Kaoru was probably trying to protect you, though he was only delaying the inevitable." Haruhi breathed.

Hikaru looked up from his feet quickly at her words. "What? Who is it? Why won't anyone tell me?"

"Hikaru... Tamaki and I have been seeing each other for a month now. Kaoru made us promise not to tell you."

The king? No. Haruhi would never fall for a fool like him. Hikaru shook his head backing away as though if he stood to close to her he would be burned.

"You're lying!" he cried, his eyes frantically flitting about the empty music room. "This is some joke isn't it? You think this is funny don't you?"

"Hikaru..." Haruhi frowned stepping forward.

"No! Stay away from me! I hate you! I hate you all!" he spat turning to the door.

He blazed across the heavenly pink tiles and grabbed hold of the door's handle its cold metal shocking his skin. Clenching his teeth he turned the handle and yanked back in one fluid motion. Tamaki, who stood on the other side of the door stood there, a puzzled look worked into his face. His hand was held out, delicate fingers outstretched as to grab the handle but were instead met with nothing.

"Kaoru?" he asked.

A hand closed around Hikaru's heart and closed in on itself, crushing what it grasped so viciously. Hikaru who was close to tears and brimming with anger set his searing eyes on his sempai.

"I'm Hikaru!" he growled and used all of his force to roughly push Tamaki to the side. "Now get out of my way!"

Tamaki gasped in surprise as he stumbled out of the way. While he was regaining his balance, Hikaru took off down the hall wanting nothing more than to get as far away as possible.

There was no one who he trusted anymore. Not even his twin. He was _dead _to him.

* * *

"JAPAN! You can't be serious!" I cried slamming my palms down on Father's desk.

Slowly, his steel eyes wandered from his computer screen to my disgruntled face. His chair let out a high pitched groan as he shifted his weight in the leather upholstery so that it tilted back ever so slightly. He drummed his knobby knuckles on the stained mahogany of his desk, each little thump driving a wooden stake into my patience.

"Yes, Japan." Father said smoothing back his blonde hair which had long been gradually turning to a whitish gray. "I have a friend there and we've decided to go into a partnership."

"Hastings Hopsitals is a large enough empire as is." I complained. "Why must we join this Youwho... Tory... Tofu..."

"The name is Ootori." he said firmly.

This earned an eye roll from me. "Whatever. I've never heard of them."

"We are moving to Japan and I am enrolling you in Ouran academy. Their youngest son goes there and I would like you to get to know him."

I set my eyes on him, willing their fiery gaze to set him ablaze but it was to no avail. I balled my fists, turning each of my knuckles bone white. Steadily I breathed, keeping the shaking in my body to a minimum, though the demon in me thrashed against the walls of its cage to escape.

"I refuse to leave America to travel to the other end of the world." I said cooly. "And you shall be left without a heir."

Letting him digest my words, I spun on my heel having said what I had come to say and left my Father's study before he could rebuke with that clever tongue of his. I knew if that were to happen I would be made a fool as always whenever I found myself in an argument with him.

I slammed the study's door with such force that the wood reverberated with a sickening violence that suggested the door might break and for a moment I was afraid it just might. However, the wood eventually became calm and I walked away, my anger returning. How dare he. There was no way I was going to leave. I didn't even speak Japanese! Did he expect me to leave everything behind including Karin? The person who knew me best?

Scowling, I climbed the familiar staircase that led to my room, using its cold cast iron rail to assist myself. The backs of my heels clicked against each wooden step, filling the empty air of the mansion with a sad and steady rhythm until I reached the top of the stairs and was met with a plush carpet. My eyes scanned the doors for the correct passageway. Once found, I captured the handle in my hand and twisted.

My room was nothing extravagant. It was cluttered with paper and pens, like a office had instilled its supplies messily about the room. Writing and art was all that distracted me from the cruel reality the world offered me. Here, I could escape. For just a little while I could pretend everything was fine.

I made my way over to my bed and frowned seeing a blue stain on the cream colored sheets. A pen lay on its side like a fallen warrior, blue ink spilling from its wound. I let out a sigh and plucked the pen from its resting place then proceeded to discard it in the waste bin. Then brushing aside some pieces of scribble adorned papers I grabbed hold of the bedsheets and pulled.

I suppose I could have called a maid to assist me or simply take over if I so desired but I was not in the mood to see anyone and it wood not kill me to change my own bedsheets.

I let the fabric flutter down to the floor into a crinkled heap and stepped over it to get to my closet. Opening its door I entered what could easily be considered a second room. Colors of the world lined the walls, each garment hung neatly on uniformal hangers while shoes stood single file, their toes directed towards me like students facing their teacher.

Ignoring them, I searched the shelves above my head for the spare sheets. Finally I found them high above my head. Letting out a strangled groan I got up on my tiptoes, arm raised, fingers outstretched. I grasped the corner of the fabric but before I could get a better hold I lost balance and fell on my hindquarters, dragging down the sheets as well as an open box with me. Light was cut off as the sheet settled over me and I winced as small trinkets rained down on me, each seeming to target my head. Once the rainfall had ceased, I moved about under the blanket, searching for the nearest exit. I found it and pulled the annoying hindrance off of me. Old toys from my childhood laid sprawled out before me.

I set to work, grabbing the shoebox and began to fill it with small stuffed animals and children's jewelry. I froze when my fingers found the locket. Wetting my lips, I scooped it up, letting its tarnished chain pool in my palm. I ran my thumb over the heart shaped locket, my breath hitching at its familiar smoothness. Images from my past bombarded me, demanding attention I refused to give. Using my thumbnail I opened the locket. Inside was two pictures. In each one was a girl with light brown hair and silvery gray eyes. I gazed down at the picture on the right, completely ignoring the one on the left. I saw her everyday. Even though the two girls were practically identical.

The girl on the right laughed up at me, her light pink lips pulled back revealing her teeth and eyes smiling. My own started to fog over as I felt my tears slap against the dam I had built, threatening to break free.

"Karin," I sobbed. "I wish you were here. I wish you were still alive. I wish I still had my twin."

At that moment the dam I had spent so much time building broke.

* * *

I left flowers at Karin's grave the next week before I was to start my journey to Japan. I found it difficult to kneel down in a pencil skirt whilst my heels were sinking into the sodden ground, due to recent rainfall, to rest the pink roses on her headstone. While still alive, Karin had often complained that I didn't take good enough care of myself. Back then I rarely wore makeup or nice clothes and my hair would be in the same boring ponytail day in and day out. After her passing I started taking the things she said to me more to heart.

As though that would get her back.

Balancing in a wobbly crouched position, I traced the letters engraved in the stone while the locket I had rediscovered the previous week hung from my neck, swinging back and forth. "In memory of Karin Hastings," I mumrured. "Loving daughter-"

"Karin, hurry up!" Father called.

The right corner of my lips twitched in annoyance. Sure my sister and I would always get frustrated when people got us confused, it's not like we were the same person, but now that she's dead it feels like she's being disrespected having her name thrust upon me by those who KNOW who has fallen.

"My name is Melanie!" I snapped rising to my feet. "And excuse me for saying goodbye to my sister, you're making me leave her behind and I may never see her again." the thought brought tears to my eyes.

"She's a rotting corpse in the ground. Lets _go_." he commanded.

I pressed my lips into a thin line at his words and directed my eyes to the ground so he could not see the hatred I had for him sparking like flint when struck, in my eyes. How could a father say something so terrible about his own daughter? _Didn't he love her at all?_

"This is why Mom left," I muttered walking past him. "You don't care about anything or anyone."

I passed various gravestones, some frosted in wilting flowers and others barren and forgotten except for the occasional dead flaking leaf that littered it. I hated cemeteries. They depressed me, knowing that one day I would join them, the dead, and that my body would rot beneath the earths surface and with time be forgotten. Those stones that were new were well kept and polished but the older ones were worn to the point where the names carved in them were no longer legible. Was that my fate? Was that everyone's fate? Admittedly, I had not given my death much thought before Karin passed. I was young, I didn't need to worry about that. Then I saw easy it was to take one's life.

Continuing along, I made my way to the waiting limousine. It's engine emitted a steady hum that I found oddly soothing. My reflection in the black paint stared back at me with a blank expression. Opening the door I slid in the back seat and leaned on the leather letting all of my frustrations escape in sad sigh.

Moments later the door was opened and closed again and Father slid in the seat beside me. He clasped his large hands before him, lacing his fingers.

"Listen, about what you said," he started.

I groaned crossing my arms over my chest and shifted in my seat so that I could face the window. The vehicle began to pull out of the cemetery.

"I know we haven't always seen eye to eye. And I know things have been difficult since your sister died and your mother and I got the divorce." he paused as though waiting for me to jump in and say 'I know Daddy, I love you.' I snorted. As if that were happening.

He continued, "But you are my daughter and I care about your well being. I just want what's best for you."

"How is moving to a foreign country what's best for me?" I questioned skeptically, watching buildings zip by as we neared the interstate.

"You haven't been yourself since your sister died last year. You're always locked up in your room, you avoid people and honey it's not healthy." he sighed shaking his head. "What are you even doing in there all the time? Is it drugs? Alcohol? Are you sneaking men in there?"

My jaw dropped at his harsh words. "Of course not! I immerse myself in the arts!" I scowled keeping my eyes trained on the window. "Honestly, the closest I've ever come to drugs is a benidril."

He said nothing. Nor did I. We sat in unnerving silence neither of us willing or brave enough to shatter it. I heard rusting beside me suggesting Father had shifted to a more comfortable position while I busied myself with the locket, fiddling with its chain.

The familiar irritating sound of fingers drumming against a solid object filled the quiet cabin. I grimaced as I ground my teeth together, my blood's temperature rising. Perhaps I was being irritable. Perhaps I was wallowing in self pity. I don't know exactly what made me say what I was about to say but it was going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

"I hate you! It should have been you who died, not Karin!"

With a jolt something slammed into the limousine's side sending the vehicle barreling through the air.


	2. Chapter 1

Hey I'm sorry I haven't been writing! My life has been hectic with school and stupid drama. There is some Japanese in this chapter and I hope I don't offend anyone because I don't speak too much Japanese and had to use Google translate so it probably isn't accurate. Well I hope you like it anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Death had it's clammy fingers draped around my neck. Its bitterly chilling breath eased down my throat, making my shell hollow and cold. Consciousness prodded at the transparent curtain separating life from death. What lingered on the other side of that curtain, I hadn't the slightest clue. All I knew was that my body had been set ablaze for my skin wept from the hot licks of flame. I would have writhed from the pain, had my paralyzed self been capable of doing so. All I could hear were my ragged breaths as Death chattered in my ear, speaking in a language unbeknownst to me. A language of strange, high pitched squeals and clicks, each syllable pounding into the tender material of my brain.

_Make it stop._ I pleaded to anyone who might hear me. _Please, make it stop._

I began to stir, I could feel the minuscule muscles in my pinky give a triumphant twitch. Death clawed at me madly in an attempt to claim me as its own as alertness bubbled to the surface of my comatose-like state. A strangled groan leapt from my chest but became ensnared in my throat. Cotton scratched at my burning arms and legs, I was drowning in the rough material. Chemicals plunged into my nostrils making me dizzy and that persistent beeping continued to hammer at my patience. My eyes flickered behind lids that refused to lift.

As though muffled with a thick blanket, a voice murmured, "Miss Hastings?"

I closed my hand in on itself, capturing scratchy bed sheets in my palm. Another groan sounded, this time pushing past parted lips.

A loud scraping sound filled the room, as though a chair had been drug across the floor.

"Miss Hastings, are you awake?"

A sliver of sight was granted to me as my right lid struggled to raise itself.

An aging man of oriental heritage sat at my bedside. His skin was a startling white, as though it had never felt the sun's gentle kiss. Wire frame glasses sat on the bridge of a profound nose and behind its lenses sparked the eyes of someone of great intelligence. My lips parted in a questioning manner.

Who was this man?

"I see, so you are," he nodded. "Do you know why you're here?"

_Here. Where is here?_ Through my one good eye I took in the bleached room around me. A hospital room? I held back a startled gasp when my gaze fell to the bed I rested in. Sheets blanketed my lap, making whatever lay beneath a mystery. What I found most startling was the tubes that raced across the bed rails, leading to my body.

"You were in an accident, you're in one of the Hastings' Hospitals," the man said slowly.

It hit me all at once. Karin's grave, my biting words towards Father, the impact of the crash.

Father! My left lid opened, both eyes now functioning. Was he alright? I tried to ask the strange man but it appeared there was something in my mouth, making speech nearly impossible. Something that snaked down my throat. Another tube.

I suppressed a shudder from such a feeling of discomfort and urged the man to continue with my eyes.

"My name is Mister Ootori, I'll be taking you back to Japan with me. You see . . ."

Ootori? The same Ootori we were on our way to see before the accident? This was the man whom my father would do business with?

"Your father is dead."

I blinked. Surely I had misheard him. He couldn't be dead, my last words to him . . .

_"I hate you! It should have been you who died, not Karin!"_

A hand composed of little more than bone and skin found my right wrist. My eyes flickered over to Mister Ootori's grave face. I suppose the gesture was meant to be comforting, but more than anything, it was unnerving.

"It was your father's final wish that I would take you into my care," he started, his calm voice so different from my wavering heart. "You'll be happy in Japan, I have a son who is a year older than you, he'll help you get settled."

Questions sprang forward, each demanding immediate attention. Was Father really gone? Why was this man, a complete stranger to me, taking me home to live with him? Didn't my mother want me?

I let the curtains of my eyes be lowered, part of me wishing it would be the final time and I could slip back into darkness.

Back into Death's embrace.

* * *

"This is where you'll be staying, Mister Ootori's daughter and youngest son live here." the maid explained to me.

I said nothing. Words had long since abandoned me. I no longer hungered for conversation, or desired to taste a sweet song on my lips. My very being had been emptied, a hollow loneliness taking root in my heart.

It had been months since the accident. I later found out I had been in a coma for three weeks and in those three weeks my father had withered away in the room across the hall from mine. My injuries had been reduced to ugly bruises and marring of scars on my body. The lick of burn marks were dulled as was the pain. But it was still there.

I stepped past the maid, dragging my luggage across the tile, the uneven wheels whirring and clicking along with a steady hum. The foyer was large and the design was open, leading into a vast living room. My eyes swept the scene, searching for the whereabouts of my new room. I could still feel the sting of finding out that the only person who had considered taking me in was Mister Ootori. Apparently even my mother had agreed to this arrangement, not wanting to house me.

"Ma'am?"

I turned to face the maid.

"You're room is this way," she nodded her head towards a grand staircase.

Reluctance took hold of me, but I drug my feet across the floor, painstakingly slow and ascended the stairs, following her. I kept my hand on the banister, not because my footing was unsteady, but because at that moment I needed to know something steady was within reach and could hold me up. I wasn't used to being the frail creature the doctors made me out to be. That had been Karin, I was the tough one. I was Melanie Hastings: independent, strong, and stubborn with a sharp tongue always cocked and loaded.

Now I was Melanie Hastings: pitiful, alone, weak, and one shove short of falling off the deep end. I had been stripped of everything, including my identity.

The staircase's mouth led us to a lengthy hallway, dimly lit by expensive light fixtures. Their weak glow danced off walls a purple so dark they appeared to be black. It was an oddly cold feeling given off by the hall and I wondered how someone could stand to live in such a lifeless environment.

I held in a startled gasp when one of the many doors suddenly swung open nearby. An impassive face leered from the darkness of the doorway and broke into the soft glow of light I was drowning in.

The face belonged to a boy of great height. He was slender, with a torso lacking the muscle definition of other boys his age. His limbs were long, and as terrible as it may sound I imagined he never had trouble reaching objects on shelves well above my head. Clean swept hair of a raven hue hung over piercing eyes trained on a book nestled in his hands which were just as lithe as the rest of him.

The maid dropped into a deep curtsy beside me. "Greetings young master," she murmured.

I stole a glance at the humble woman beside me. Young master? Was this the Kyoya Ootori I had been told about? He did mildly resemble Mister Ootori with his dark hair and ivory skin.

The boy looked up, light dancing off his wire framed glasses. His eyes leapt over the maid and rested on me. He seemed to drink me in, trying to drown my image in his eyes, dark pools against a stark white.

He downed a generic smile. "You must be Miss Hastings, welcome."

Something inside me stirred restlessly. Not happiness, not shyness, not even anxiety. It was pure discontent. My eyes sparked with a hateful malevolence.

"I don't like your smile, it doesn't reach your eyes."

I pushed past the confused boy and left him with the maid whose mouth now hung open so wide, it was in danger of reaching the lavish carpet on the hall's floor.

I had meant every syllable in that one sentence and I hoped I was able to convey my distaste for the lad. It had only taken me that short encounter to see what sort Kyoya Ootori was. I could tell from his refined posture that he thought highly of himself. His smile, devoid of any true emotion, was no more than a pleasant looking accessory, like a necklace, used to charm the dim witted minds of others. His voice had been smooth, never rising and never falling, meaning he was sure of himself, calculating every word he intended to say, perhaps determining which sentences would serve to bring him some form of gain. And though his nose had only been slightly upturned, it implemented arrogance.

This was the person who would be my ally in my darkest of times? He would be my friend as I struggled through an unseemly sense of abandonment? I shook my head, pushing on the wood of a random door, not caring where it would lead me as long as it was away from that boy.

The room, like the rest of the house, was absent of light. I felt blindly for a light switch, my palm grazing the wall. I found it at last and upturned its nose, flooding the room with wonderful light.

It was a bedroom, bathed in shades of cream. A canopy hung suspended over a four poster bed. Uniformal ruffles frosted the beds top and ran around the sides of the comforter. Curious feet carried me over to its foot, past a large mahogany wardrobe and vanity dresser. Reaching down, I touched my fingertips to the bed, feeling smooth sheets, as gentle on my skin as a kitten's breath would be.

"You know, it's very rude for your first words toward a person to be, 'I don't like your smile,'"

I kept my back to the conceited young man, not thinking him worth the effort of turning.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" I shot back, regardless of relevance.

Shoes slapped at the hardwood floor, their loud chatter only ceasing when they reached plush carpet. His shadow crept over me, holding me tight in its grasp. I estimated he was about three feet away from me.

"This is my home," he started. "You, my guest, have just welcomed yourself into a room I do not remember allowing admittance to."

Now I did turn, not for his sake but for mine. I wanted to cut the insolent boy with my sharp gaze. To show him how much I was hurting and that I didn't need him adding to my leaden burden.

I had miscalculated on how close he was. My eyes met his chest, his breath pouring over top my head. Scowling, I raised my eyes to meet his. I imbibed my unease at his closeness.

"I do not need this pestering from you right now," I started, trying to keep my voice smooth like his. "Can you not let me settle in and get accustomed to my new abode? Have I not gone through enough?"

He leaned forward, bending down to my level.

"I was simply going to suggest I show you to your proper room."

I cursed my reddened cheeks as embarrassment took hold of me. Alright, so he really was trying to help me, not make my life more difficult. I had jumped to the first conclusion fabricated, convinced he only meant me bothersome annoyance. I then realized how rude my greeting to him earlier really was.

"I . . . I'm sorry for my harsh words earlier." I stammered.

He straightened up, his arms folding over his chest. "I accept your apology Miss Hastings," he sighed as though my expression of regret were trivial.

I wet my dried lips, keeping my eyes down. I did not wish to fall victim under his gaze, thus strengthening my newfound shame.

"Would you be so kind as to show me to my room?" I finally asked.

"Your room?" He asked. "This is it. Be sure to clean yourself up before dinner."

I watched in disbelief as he sauntered out of the room. So he was just fooling around with me! He wasn't trying to help! He had deliberately made me feel shame that I should not have.

I clenched my teeth planting my foot firmly on the ground.

"I hate you, Kyoya Ootori!"

* * *

I scrutinized the bright yellow with distaste.

"I won't wear it," I announced to no one in particular, discarding the monstrosity over side my bed.

Sliding off my mattress, I made my way over to the wardrobe, downing clothes more to my liking; a modest, black shirt and worn jeans. I cared not whether I would be ridiculed for my choice of garb. These people didn't know me and therefore had no right to pass judgment.

A light knock came from my door, the maid's voice coming through, muffled by the wood. "Ma'am, it's time for you and the young master to go to school."

I let out a defeated sigh as her words reached my ears. Ouran Academy awaited my arrival that morning, the prodigious school Kyoya Ootori and now myself would attend. I had been told the entrance exams for the facility were nearly impossible to pass, but coming from such wealth, I like many other of the occupants did not need to take such an exam to get in. I wondered bitterly what sort of institution this would be, if one didn't even need to take an exam simply because their funds were of an ample amount. It made me wonder . . .

What would the intelligence of my other classmates be?

Something told me it would be lacking.

With a heavy heart and reluctant feet, I slung my book bag over my shoulder. Dragging my unwilling being over to my door, I gave its knob a sharp twist and pushed forward in order to slip into the drab hallway. Its vacancy was not surprising, according to my cellphone I was running a good twelve minutes late. Kyoya was probably waiting in the limo with nothing but his impatience to hinder him.

My accusation appeared to be correct, for when I finally made it to the humming vehicle, the young man was in a foul mood.

"You're late," he drulled as I slid in, slamming the door shut behind me before the chauffeur could get his fingertips on the handle.

I buckled my seat belt into place without a word. My heart's pace had hastened, and my stomach had tightened in on itself. The last time I had been in the back seat of a limousine, the drive had ended in a barrel roll sealing my father's demise. When I had first arrived in Japan, I was flown over in a private jet and taken back to the estate in a fairly nice car. But I was not required to take any limousine.

Kyoya raised his brow in mild curiosity. "Everything alright?"

"I'm fine!" I snapped, folding my arms over my stomach, feeling that if I didn't, it would leap up and out of my mouth. I forced my fingers to cease their incessant shaking.

The vehicle pulled out onto open road, furthering the extent of my discomfort. I leaned back on the leather, letting its cool touch help ease my anxiety as it leaked through the thin fabric of my shirt. Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing.

"You're not wearing your uniform."

I opened an eye to see Kyoya peering at me in a discourteous manner. I took on a discontented lour.

"I am in the middle of grieving the loss of my father," I started tartly, "Can you not allow me to bear grief's colors and cease your pestering?"

He raised his hands. "Calm down, I was only making an observation."

"Even if I weren't grieving I would refuse to wear such apparel," I grumbled, "It makes me look like a giant lemon drop."

"You realize no one wears black during mourning anymore," was his only reply.

I turned my attention the the tinted window to my right. My original expectations of Japan proved to be not entirely correct. The big cities like Tokyo were indeed crowded, and I had expected the rest of the island to be. But it turned out it wasn't all concrete. Driving down the road I saw that the city thinned out a bit, revealing a cluster-like town with some grass that sprang up from the ground, rather than concrete. My eyes found the vast academy quickly, for the grand building towered over all the others like a god among men. My disquiet was forgotten as I took in the skilled craftsmanship gone into sculpting such a beauteous structure. A laughing fountain sat before the institute, water tittering with joy as it danced up into the sky only to be brought back down again by gravity's inescapable pull. We pulled up beside it, its spittle peppering my window.

"I'm sorry."

I tore my eyes away from the window to look at Kyoya's placid profile, his eyes trained forward, so they wouldn't meet mine.

"For what?" I asked confused.

Was he apologizing for his attitude? Part of me hoped so, honestly I thought of him as a rude and arrogant fellow without so much as a shred of decency. Even though I had only known him for about a day.

"It just occurred to me I haven't shown my condolences for Mister Hastings' death. I am told he was a wonderful man."

Before I had a chance to search his face for honesty, he opened his door and slid out, leaving me alone with unanswered questions.

* * *

Hikaru had never despised being in the same class as his twin brother. But that was before.

Before he found out he had lied to him.

Kaoru sat at the other end of the room, his shoulders stooped low. It was a new school year and not only was Haruhi in a different class, but his brother now hated him. He wondered what would become of them, they had once been so close, now that bond had been severed. He looked over at Hikaru's despondent face. They should be sitting together, not apart from one another.

If only Hikaru would stop being mad at him long enough to listen to reason.

The room was alight with the mindless prattle of rich teenagers. Students discussed where they went during summer vacation and what they did. The Hiatachiin brothers had spent their free time away from one another. Before Kaoru had the chance to talk with his twin about what happened, Hikaru had taken off on the family jet to go to one of their family's summer homes.

Their teacher, a portly man with a receding hairline, dabbed his round face with a handkerchief, scanning the room. All seemed to be accounted for. He picked up the attendance sheets from his desk, staining the thin paper with greasy fingerprints. Going down the list, he muttered to himself, wiping his clammy palms on his trousers.

The sound of a door being opened tore through the chatter which dispersed into silence. The pupils spun in their chairs intrigued. Class had commenced. Who could possibly be so late?

* * *

Waves of nausea wracked my body. My hold on the handle was a weak one and I flirted with the idea of making a quick dash out of the building. I didn't belong here. I was supposed to be attending my own school back home with Karin. None of this should have happened.

This was wrong.

I knew I was late and I couldn't have cared less. My responsibilities as a new student here such as showing up to class on time seemed so trivial to me. I knew this wasn't the best attitude to hold so dear but I was not in the mood to be the perfect little girl high society had tried so desperately to breed me to be.

I entered, putting on a cold front and tried to ignore their curious stares. I set my eyes on my teacher, a man who had been crammed into a checkered sweater vest. It looked painful.

He retrieved a yellowing handkerchief from his pocket and swept away the pearls of sweat that had been strung on his forehead and dabbed his florid face.

"Dare ka anata?" He asked.

Panic took hold of me. Oh how I wished I had paid more attention in my Japanese class. In all the madness I had forgotten that I would have to be able to communicate in japanese. The Ootori's had conversed with me in english so it had completely slipped my mind. I still remembered some japanese from my lessons but only a few phrases.

_Think Melanie, think._ I thought hurriedly. What had did he just say? Using reason I came up with a conclusive answer.

In other words I took a wild jab in the dark.

_He's probably asking who I am, right?_

"Watashino namae wa Melanie Hastings desu."

His fish lips tugged up into a grin and for a moment I thought all might be well. Once, Japanese culture had captivated both Karin and I. That was why I had taken lessons. But after her death anything that reminded me of my sister no longer appealed to me. Luckily I still remembered some key phrases. Perhaps I would be able to make it to my desk without making a fool of myself.

"Watashi no kurasu e yōkoso. Watashi wa anata no sensei ni narimasu. Watashinonamaeha sensei Yamata desu. Anata no nihongo wa dōdesu ka?"

Apparently not. _Just say something!_ I begged myself. _Anything!_

"Uh . . . Watashi no hobākurafuto wa unagi de ippai desu."

My teacher's already reddened face darkened to a deep scarlet as snickers from my classmates rolled across the room. I felt color rise to my own cheeks as I realized what I had just said.

My hovercraft is full of eels? That's what I chose to say?! Of everything– oh I am a fool.

I hadn't realized how limited my vocabulary was. I wore shame like a heavy cloak, draped around my body. Humiliation weighed down on me, making it difficult to stand properly. My sight became clouded with haze, shapes losing the once sharp edges and faces turning to on blurred circle. I blinked, as though I could wipe away the grimy filter of my eyesight with my lashes.

I started when a hand found my shoulder. Spinning around, I came face to face with a pair of yellow, catlike eyes. The boy brushed the ginger locks hanging in them and spoke.

"Do you speak English?" He asked.

I felt so relieved; someone I could communicate with.

"Yes," I said quickly with a nod.

The boy smiled and turned to our teacher. With him, we were able to relay messages and though some of my burden had been lifted, shame still stung my cheeks. If I was going to take a Japanese class I was going to have to learn to speak the language.

A pair of eyes bore into my back and turned me to face their gaze. A boy nearly identical to the one helping me sat with his elbows on his desk, chin resting on his laced fingers. I assumed they were twins. His amber orbs held a glow of curiosity. However, when they flickered from me to the boy beside me, a dark malevolence took over.

The redhead beside me turned to face me with a smile.

"There's an open seat by–"

"Me, come sit." His brother cut in.

Perplexed, I looked between the two. Our classmates had fallen into a hushed silence and were watching the spectacle as though it were a TV drama. I could feel the hostility in the air and I knew it wasn't because of me. These two were angry at each other, that was certain, but it definitely wasn't about where I sat. No. I was just a pawn they wanted to use to annoy the other with.

I was so tired of being a pawn.

I took a seat at the front between a chubby aristocratic boy and a lanky girl with dark eyes.

"Sup?" I asked.


End file.
